


to be honest, capable (of holding you)

by angelsdemonsducks



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Platonic Cuddling, Touch-Starved Deceit | Janus Sanders, janus: ew no that's disgusting, snake!janus, this whole fic is an excuse for janus and c!thomas to bond, thomas: hey do you think you could show me a bit of vulnerability?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:47:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelsdemonsducks/pseuds/angelsdemonsducks
Summary: He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”Thomas didn't know that Janus could turn into an actual snake, but he's glad to hang out with him regardless. More than glad; ecstatic, even, because he's been trying to figure out how to befriend him for ages, and this seems like a good first step. What he can't figure out is why human-Janus is being so weird about it.(Alternatively: Janus doesn't trust easily. He wishes he could stop trusting Thomas— it would be so much less terrifying.)
Relationships: Deceit | Janus Sanders & Thomas Sanders
Comments: 122
Kudos: 528





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from 'Change' by Lana Del Rey ( _yes_ from Janus' playlist).
> 
> Chapter content warnings include a brief fear of being strangled (though no actual strangulation occurs).

It starts with the snake in the sunshine.

Thomas supposes that’s not entirely right, because in order to be truly accurate, he would have to acknowledge that ‘it’ started a long, long time ago, when he was a kid, or perhaps even when he was a baby. He’s not certain; he’s never thought to ask any of the sides when, exactly, they developed. And he’s also not certain when they became… the way that they are, instead of just being regular, non-sentient parts of his personality like literally everyone else on the planet is made up of, when his heart became someone called Patton, his logic someone called Logan, and so on. But he doesn’t think that any of that is particularly relevant for this specific situation, so for all intents and purposes: it starts with the snake in the sunshine.

He spots it when he’s coming down the stairs, and promptly stops up short on the third to last step, because, snake. In his apartment. And he knows that things like this happen in Florida, knows that wildlife has a tendency to encroach on human settlements (and he has heard enough horror stories about alligators in people’s backyards to last a lifetime, thank you), but it’s never happened to him before, and he’s not sure what to do about it.

It’s lying in the sunlight slanting through the window, coiled tightly, unmoving. It is white, with dappled yellow patterns all across its back, though there appears to be some kind of black marking on its head. It’s fairly large, too, far larger than any snakes he’s seen outside of a zoo, and he briefly entertains the notion that this might be a zoo escapee, though he’s not certain of how that would have happened. Or of how it got into his apartment in the first place. He definitely would have noticed it sneaking through the door, right?

He manages to overcome his initial fear, carefully dismounting the last few steps and approaching cautiously, sure to stay out of striking range. He doesn’t know much about snakes, doesn’t know how to tell if this is a venomous one or not, and he’s not taking any chances. Though, isn’t it something to do with the shape of their heads? Don’t venomous snakes have pointed heads? That sounds right. And this snake’s head doesn’t look particularly angular, so perhaps he’s safe, though he still doesn’t want to get bitten, venomous or not. The next step should probably be to call animal control and let them handle this.

Something about it seems off, though. Something in its markings, perhaps, that particular shade of yellow, or that odd blot on its head—

Wait. That can’t be right.

He stops. Takes a few steps forward, squinting. Goes so far as to rub his eyes, because perhaps there is a spot in his vision, fooling him into seeing something that doesn’t exist.

But no, it’s still there.

The black spot on its head isn’t a natural marking at all. He’s still not entirely sure his eyes can be trusted, but for all the world, it appears as though there is a tiny black bowler hat perched between this snake’s eyes.

And just like that, everything clicks. All the fear rushes out of him at once, leaving him breathless with relief. He can’t say that there is no apprehension about this new set of circumstances, and a healthy dose of confusion is steadily building, but this is far better than there being an actual, real snake in his apartment.

He walks forward, crouching over the snake, and when it doesn’t stir at all, he works up his courage and pokes it, just a little. Its scales are warm and smooth under his fingertip, and he resists the urge to stroke them. He doubts he could get away with that.

“Janus?” he asks, trying to keep the somewhat hysterical laughter from his voice. “That you?”

Slowly, the snake lifts its head, looking up at him with slightly glassy eyes. For a few seconds, they both participate in what has to be the strangest staring contest of Thomas’ life. Thomas loses, because the snake that is probably-almost-definitely-Janus doesn’t seem to blink.

Snakes don’t have facial expressions. Thomas is fairly certain of that. And yet, he gets the distinct impression that Janus is waiting for something; it’s in the gleam of his eyes, the slight tilt of his head, almost like he’s issuing a challenge.

“It’s totally cool if it is,” he clarifies, raising his hands. “Uh, you can feel free to stay there as long as you want. But uh, I just wanted to make sure that it was you and not some random snake.” He smiles, casting about in his mind for something to say. He’s not yet sure how to talk to Janus, not sure how to interact with him now that he’s offered up his acceptance, but he’s certainly going to try his best. He wants to get to know him, wants to understand him better. He deserves nothing less. “There’s only room for one snake in this apartment.”

Janus stares at him for a while longer, and then nods, a fluid, intelligent motion that is slightly disturbing coming from something that looks like an animal, but Thomas can deal. If his sides can shapeshift into his friends, and puppets, and giant frog monsters with abs, he can cope with his snake-like side becoming an actual snake. It’s hardly the weirdest thing he’s ever seen.

Janus returns to his coiled up position, apparently intent on taking a nap, and frankly, Thomas can’t blame him at all. A nap sounds great right about now. He’s not entirely sure why Janus has chosen to do so here, rather than in the mindscape; he’s certainly never seen any of the other sides sleep in his apartment. But he’s hardly about to make Janus leave, even if he’s bemused and a bit discomfited, so he wanders off to grab a snack and get back to editing, leaving Janus to sleep in the sunlight.

He’s gone by evening, and Thomas isn’t entirely sure when he left. It’s a few days before he shows up again, in the exact same spot, in the exact same sunbeam, and Thomas greets him but otherwise leaves him be.

From then on, it sort of becomes a thing. On cloudless days, Janus pops up as a snake to sun himself in the living room. Sometimes Thomas will chat with him, making idle conversation that he’s not sure is listened to, and sometimes he stays silent, content to do his own thing while Janus does his. It turns into a comfortable habit, on his end, at least, and he hopes that Janus is comfortable with it too. He thinks he is; at least, he never gives any indication otherwise.

He’s still not sure _why_ exactly this is happening, but he hardly feels the need to complain.

But then, Thomas walks downstairs one day to find Janus staring directly at him.

He pauses, thrown by the change to their routine. Most of Janus’ body is curled in on itself, like usual, but his head is reared, and as Thomas watches, he sways back and forth slightly, a constant, seemingly automatic motion. His tongue flickers in the air, but he makes no sound, neither hissing nor speech, and though Thomas isn’t sure that he’s capable of talking while he’s like this, he’s heard him hiss a few times, so this silence is unnerving.

“Hey,” he says uneasily. He gives a half-hearted little wave, which he regrets almost instantly, feeling like an idiot. “Uh, is something the matter?”

Janus looks pointedly to the window behind him, and then back to Thomas again. It only takes Thomas a few seconds after that to realize what the issue is.

It’s raining.

And not a light rain, either, not the kind that casts grey shadows over the world and taps gentle, soothing rhythms against the windowpane. This is a storm, dark and furious, wind whipping and tearing into the trees and sending gust after gust of the torrential downpour against the glass. It is late afternoon, but it may as well be night for how dark the sky is. There is certainly no trace of sun poking through, and thus, no light for Janus to lie in.

He walks closer, though hesitantly. “I’m not sure what to tell you, buddy.” He winces as soon as he says it; ‘buddy’ doesn’t fit Janus at all, feels too presumptuous, like he’s assuming a closeness that doesn’t yet exist. He’ll keep trying. “I can’t control the weather.” He pauses, looking back to the snake, who has drawn up slightly, his head now almost level with Thomas’ waist. “Um, is there not anywhere in the mindscape that you could find some sun?”

Janus hisses, loud and sharp, opening his mouth to flash some fang. Instinctively, Thomas takes a step back.

He’ll take that as a no.

He rubs the back of his neck. “Well, I’m not sure what to do, then,” he says. “It’s supposed to be like this all day.”

Snakes cannot look disappointed. They cannot glare. They are literally incapable of those facial expressions. So how Janus is managing to convey angry dejection is absolutely beyond him. And he doesn’t know how to comfort him, doesn’t know if comfort would even be welcome; in a way, Janus is a lot like Virgil, not that he would ever dare to speak that opinion out loud. They present themselves entirely differently, but at their core, they are both proud, stubborn and guarded, if in varying ways. Thomas has learned Virgil fairly well by now, knows how to slip past his walls, but Janus is a different story.

But still, seeing him so disappointed doesn’t sit right with him. So he reaches out on instinct, running a finger down the scales just past his head in an attempt to offer comfort through touch, and he doesn’t realize that this may have been a mistake until Janus stiffens, going completely rigid and still. He pulls his hand back hastily.

“Sorry!” he says. “I should’ve asked first, I’m sorry.” He frowns, glancing from Janus to his finger and back again. “You’re really cold. Is that normal?”

Snakes are cold-blooded. He does know that much, knows that they rely on external factors in order to maintain their body temperatures. He just never thought that such a restriction would apply to Janus, considering that he is, in fact, an imaginary snake and not a real one. But if he’s wrong, if Janus truly does need an outside source of heat in order to stay warm himself, then that would explain his distress.

Janus hisses at him again and ducks back down, curling into himself until he resembles a convoluted knot, his head nowhere to be seen. It’s almost upsettingly cute, not that Thomas would risk voicing such a thought. He crouches down instead, considering his options. Would Janus accept his help, if he offered it?

There’s only one way to find out.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Um, look, I can’t turn on the sun for you, but you look super uncomfortable, so if you wanted, you could… wrap around my arm, or something? Body heat would help, right?” He hesitates; Janus is fairly long, probably about five feet, possibly a bit longer, so the logistics might be a bit tricky. But he’s sure they could figure it out, if Janus would be amenable. Slowly, he stretches a hand out again, placing two fingers on Janus’ scales and stroking them with a feather-light touch. He really does feel cold.

Janus uncoils himself, hissing loudly, but he leans into the contact in a way that almost seems like desperation, like he’s trying to steal all the warmth he can from Thomas’ fingertips. And after a moment, the hissing stops, and he regards Thomas with an almost wild stare.

“Really,” he presses, unsure of what Janus is thinking. “I wouldn’t mind. Unless it’s not something you’re comfortable with, in which case, that’s fine, we could figure out something else. I… might have a heated blanket?” He casts back in his mind, trying to figure out if he does, in fact, possess a heated blanket, or if he just used to have one and is remembering incorrectly. If he doesn’t still have it, he’s not sure that he owns anything else that would help; snakes like heat lamps, he thinks, but he definitely doesn’t have one of those. Could he turn on the oven and set Janus in front of it? Would that work?

He is jolted out of his thoughts by the sensation of Janus’ head rubbing into his hand, like a cat seeking attention. He freezes, and so does Janus, and for a long moment, they have another one of those staring contests. Then, Janus sets his head primly on the back of his hand, still staring, as if asking for permission. Something bright and warm blooms in Thomas’ chest, and with his free hand, he gestures to his arm, trying to suppress the grin that wants to spread across his face.

Janus hesitates for a second longer. Then, he slithers up and around Thomas’ arm, and Thomas shivers at the sensation of frigid scales sliding across his skin. At first, it seems as though this won’t work, that Janus is simply too big to settle comfortably, but Thomas watches in fascination as Janus begins to shrink, landing on a much smaller size, perhaps two feet long, a length that can wrap around his arm with ease. Somehow, throughout the process, the tiny bowler hat remains perfectly balanced.

And just like that, there is a snake looped around Thomas’ arm.

“Alright,” he says, trying not to sound as giddy as he feels, because this is the closest he feels like he’s gotten to making a personal connection to Janus in months. “Okay, cool. Um, I was planning on getting some more editing done, so you can just hang out while I do that, I guess. Feel free to hiss at me or something if you get uncomfortable.”

Janus remains silent, which he will take as a good sign. In fact, he remains silent for the better part of an hour, lazily regarding the computer screen as Thomas attempts to wrangle his filmed material into something worth posting. He ends up doing most of the work with one arm so as to disturb Janus as little as possible, but he finds that he doesn’t mind. After a time, he almost forgets that Janus is there at all, becomes accustomed to the chilly weight of his scales on his arm, the slight movements as he shifts in place every now and again.

But then, those slight movements become bigger movements, and Thomas stills, tensing as Janus uncoils and begins to slither his way up his arm and under his shirtsleeve. His breath catches, and chills shoot down his spine; Janus is warmer than before, but still cool, and the sensation as Janus moves across his shoulder and emerges from his shirt’s collar is odd, unfamiliar. He exhales shakily as Janus continues to move, looping himself around his neck several times, just tight enough that Thomas is very aware of his presence, of the fact that there is a snake coiled around his neck, and as much as he knows that Janus will not physically harm him (and probably couldn’t, even if he tried), there is an element in his hindbrain that is gibbering at him, insisting that everything about this situation is a very bad idea, and that he needs to remove the threat.

God, he hopes Virgil isn’t paying attention to this. Except, judging from the way he’s feeling right now, judging from the almost audible _oh god oh god get him off get him off_ , he definitely is, and Thomas is very surprised that he’s held back from showing up in person.

And then, Janus lets out a whistling breath and tucks his head between the coils and Thomas’ neck, and all the tension leaks from Thomas’ body as his rational thinking catches up to the situation. The way Janus is gripping him is nowhere near tight enough to cut off his airflow, and it never was, even though he seems to be pressing up as close to his skin as possible. But why--?

Was his arm not warm enough?

“You good there, Janus?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. He receives no response, neither a hiss nor any additional motion, so he tries again. “Are you, uh, asleep?”

Again, no reply, so it’s probably safe to assume. He smiles, wide and unrestrained, and powers down his laptop. The storm outside has calmed to a softer rainfall, pattering against the windows, and other than that, the world seems quiet and still. It’s earlier than Thomas usually goes to bed, but he actually feels like he might manage to fall asleep if he tries, and a little bit of extra rest never hurt anyone. He’s been working in bed already, thankfully, so while he can’t lie all the way down without dislodging Janus in some way, Logan won’t lecture him too much if he falls asleep where he sits.

He reaches over to the lamp at his bedside and turns off the light.

“Goodnight, Janus,” he murmurs. Predictably, he receives no response, but Janus’ scales still press against him in the dark, a comforting presence as he drifts off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The second chapter is pretty much done. The third chapter is... not so much, but I've been sitting on this first part for so long that I really just wanted to start posting, because the longer I waited the less I liked it, and then I got worried that I was going to end up not posting it at all, so. Here we are.
> 
> I'm not gonna lie, this whole fic is an excuse for c!Thomas to hug Janus. This is my first time writing from c!Thomas' pov, so feel free to tell me how I did!
> 
> I'm on tumblr @whenisitenoughtrees if you'd ever like to come say hi!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is where the blood and injury tag comes into play. Nothing too graphic, I don't think, but please take care of yourselves! Also, warnings for Remus being vaguely unsettling.

They don’t talk about it.

Thomas would very much like to talk about it. But whenever he goes to bring it up, Janus glares at him in a way that promises a world of trouble if he so much as breathes a word, and Thomas really does not want to set back any of the progress he’s already made with him, so he shuts up about it. He’s not entirely sure why Janus is so opposed to addressing it; it can’t be that he doesn’t want the others to know, after all, because all the others are literally parts of Thomas and as such are privy to the knowledge of everything that Thomas experiences.

As best as Thomas can tell, it’s some sort of embarrassment that holds Janus back, some sort of shame, and Thomas doesn’t get it. Surely he knows that Thomas doesn’t mind at all, that Thomas enjoys the time they spend together, even if their conversations are far more one-sided than he would like. Janus seems to be under the impression that coming to him at all is in some way unseemly, while Thomas just wants him to be comfortable enough to approach him as a human.

But as more time passes, that seems less and less likely. Thomas spends far more time with snake-Janus than with human-Janus, and Janus begins to come with him even when the sun shines bright and his spot by the window is available. Thomas becomes quite familiar with carrying a weight looped around his neck, and wishes he could puzzle out why Janus is acting this way.

The worst part is that with every passing day, he feels like he understands Janus less, not more. Because the way he acts during meetings and discussions, when he pops in to offer opinions and advice masked as sarcasm and cutting quips, is entirely different to the way he acts as a snake, when he and Thomas are alone together, when he leans into all the contact Thomas has to offer, seeking warmth, and, Thomas suspects, company. It’s almost as if he’s dealing with two entirely different people, each one unwilling or unable to discuss the other, and frankly, Thomas has no idea what to do about it.

Because he’s worried that if he pushes too hard, demands one answer too many, Janus will stop approaching him at all, in any form. And that is the last thing he wants.

So, he leaves it be, and resigns himself to the idea that human-Janus may just remain incomprehensible to him, and that snake-Janus is the closest he will get to making a friend out of him. And if that turns out to be the case, then gosh darn it, he will be the best friend to snake-Janus that he possibly can be.

This has the side effect of leading him to a snake-centric fact-finding mission, which Logan appreciates, at least, because “even if the information may not be applicable to most aspects of your life, at least you’re learning something, Thomas.” Which he supposes is fair. He learns a great many things about snakes over the course of a few days, most of it interesting, if not particularly relevant. He doesn’t know how much of this actually applies to Janus, since he’s not a _real_ snake.

Though he does find out that snakes don’t have eyelids. That would explain the whole no-blinking thing.

Other than his impromptu investigations, they fall into an equilibrium fairly easily. Janus will seek him out at all hours of the day and wrap himself around his arm or neck, sometimes staying awake and aware and sometimes drifting off into sleep. And when he’s fed up with the company, he leaves, disappearing with neither warning nor fanfare. Thomas settles into this new routine with little effort, and decides that if this is all he’s going to get from Janus, he’ll take it.

He gets used to it, so much so that he stops looking every time he feels Janus curl around him. This turns out to be a mistake.

He’s procrastinating, as per usual. His deadline is a full week away, and even Virgil has been unable to provide the urgency that Thomas needs to push through and finish his latest project. He knows that this will only end badly, that he’s going to end up staying up until the early hours of the morning in a few days if he doesn’t get started now, but he simply doesn’t feel like it. So, he’s scrolling through Amazon instead, clicking through pages of items that he neither needs nor particularly wants.

He’s been looking at a lot of frogs, lately. Cute, decorative frogs, the kinds that sit on mantles and don’t do much of anything. And plushies, too, and those are actually tempting. He’s pretty sure that it’s Patton’s influence.

“What do you think?” he asks, holding up his arm so that Janus can see the screen. Janus hisses quietly, and he laughs. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” He doesn’t have the money to spend on a bunch of decorative frogs, even if he had a strong inclination toward doing so, but it’s fun to look. He’s seriously considering a stuffed animal, but he’s pretty sure that Logan intends to talk him down from that, so there’s no real need to be concerned about it. Even if he ends up buying one after all, he thinks it would be worth it.

He glances down at Janus, trying to figure out if he’s enjoying this at all, or if he’s just irritated. And that’s when he finally notices the blood.

He freezes up, his muscles tensing, and blinks hard, hoping that it’s a trick of the light, or that spending so many hours doing practically nothing has fried his brain at last. But no; Janus’ scales are dotted with rusty red, and Thomas traces the blood back to a long gash trailing down his side, sluggishly oozing, slowly dripping onto his arm. He stares for a long moment, his mind stalling, and he wonders if the scent of iron flooding his nose is real or imaginary. Or rather, real by a certain standard, since everything to do with his sides is technically imaginary, but oh god, why is he bleeding so much? He thought that his sides could wave off injuries, that nothing could truly affect them unless they wanted it to? Or is that just Logan? And then there’s the question of what did this to him in the first place, and how exactly he’s supposed to treat someone who’s a figment of his imagination, and whether or not any of the real medical supplies he has would work at all—

_Focus, Thomas._

It’s like a whisper in his ear, gentle and firm. Logan’s voice. The world snaps into sharp clarity, mind and adrenaline working in tandem.

“Oh my god,” he says, and Janus’ head swivels to face him. The movement is slow, almost lethargic, as if he’s operating on a time delay. “You’re hurt. Okay. Well, not okay. But you’ll be okay.”

He has a first aid kit in the bathroom. He has no idea whether that will help or not, but he won’t know until he tries, as his logic helpfully points out. So the first order of business is to get to the bathroom. He stands, setting his laptop to the side, trying to jostle Janus as little as possible. Now that he’s paying attention, more and more details filter in; Janus’ grip on his arm is looser than usual, his eyes dull and glazed. His hat, usually so perfectly placed, is just slightly askew.

He makes it to the bathroom in short order, yanking the kit out from under the sink and nearly spilling its contents across the floor. He’ll need both hands for this, and he looks to Janus with no small amount of trepidation, wondering how well he’ll take being moved. He doesn’t want to cause him more pain than necessary, and he doesn’t know how aware he currently is, doesn’t know if he’ll lash out if he feels threatened. He gives him an experimental nudge, prodding at him with one finger, and Janus hisses, shifting his coils to hold on tighter.

“C’mon,” Thomas says. “You gotta let me help you, buddy.”

There is is again: buddy. He still doesn’t think it fits quite right, but it seems to slip out anyway, and now is hardly the time to worry about it, not when Janus still shows no sign of budging.

“Please, Janus,” he says, dangerously close to begging. “I promise, I’m not gonna let anything else happen to you, but you need to let me see where you’re hurt.”

Janus’ tongue flickers out, tasting the air, and his eyes seem to focus just a bit. One minute passes, and then another, and Thomas is about to try to remove him by force when finally, he lets go, slithering onto the counter, his motions hesitant and pained, softly hissing all the while. Blood begins to drip onto the sink, the sickening red smearing across the countertop.

“Thank you,” Thomas says, not bothering to hide his relief. “Okay, um, I’ve got bandages. And painkillers, if you want them… can snakes take painkillers?” He sets things out as he names them, slowing as he hits a snag. Not only does he not know if snakes can take painkillers, but he also doesn’t know if there are any other substances in here that would do more harm than good, or if there are any special steps he should take due to his scales, or the fact that he’s cold-blooded. In fact, he has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake, and the idea that he might end up making things worse is enough to send his anxiety ratcheting up a few notches.

Is he overthinking this? He might be overthinking this. But what if he’s not?

_Try to remain calm. If you don’t know enough to work within this situation, change the situation._

Logan again, though he’s not sure how that’s supposed to help. He would change the situation if he could— heck, that’s what he’s trying to do— but if it were so simple as wishing this whole scenario away, he would have done it by now. He’s not sure how to—

Oh, wait. Change _the_ situation, or change _Janus’_ situation?

He has absolutely no idea how to treat a snake. But Janus doesn’t have to be a snake.

He crouches down so that he’s on eye level with Janus, who is limp and unmoving on the sink counter, tracking his motions with clouded eyes. It’s not just the large gash, he realizes; that’s the worst of it, but there are several shallower cuts, all still open and bleeding, and he swallows hard.

“Okay, so, I don’t want to make things any worse,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Do you think you could turn back into a human for me? Just so that I know what I’m doing?”

Not that he knows much about treating humans either, but at least he’d know where to start. Perhaps if Janus’ injuries were less severe, he could work with them in this state, but that prominent gash looks deep and angry, probably about six inches long, wide and painful, rending scales apart and leaking dark blood and _god_ , he is so afraid of making this worse—

Janus stares at him, and doesn’t react.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas says, because he is. He doesn’t know why Janus only initiates contact with him as a snake, doesn’t know why the very idea of deviating from that seems to disquiet him. Asking him to be human now, like this, almost seems wrong, like they’ll be breaking what understanding they do have between them, breaking the peace they’ve found with each other lately. But then, the peace is already broken, he thinks, has been broken since Janus showed up bleeding. “I know you probably don’t want to. But I want to make this better, and I don’t think I can if you’re uh, shaped like this. I… I guess I’m asking you to trust me.”

It’s a tall order, and he is well aware of that. Janus is Deceit, after all, and Deceit is practically the antithesis of trust. He’ll probably have to work with Janus as a snake after all, and he’s just resolving himself to do the best he can when Janus shifts in place, raising his head.

Thomas isn’t sure how to process what happens next. One part of his brain tells him that the change happens slowly, that Janus’ form stretches and morphs in impossible ways, scales fading away and features rearranging before his eyes. The other part of his brain insists that the shift is instantaneous, that it happens as quickly as blinking, that in one moment, there is a snake curled on the counter and in the next, there is a man, with no gradual transition between the two. But however it happens, Janus now sits in front of him, arms and legs all present, hunched in on himself and wheezing. One hand flies to his side, clutching at his shirt.

Thomas blinks. For a second, his mind fights with itself, trying to decide on what, exactly, he just watched. Then, he decides that it doesn’t matter, that he’ll have a crisis about it later, and that there are more important things to concentrate on.

He reaches out, placing a steadying hand on Janus’ shoulder. “Easy, easy,” he says, raising his voice to be audible over Janus’ gasps. “Are you okay?”

It takes a minute for Janus to get his breathing under control, and when he does, he looks up at Thomas, his expression pinched. “Just fine,” he rasps. “Absolutely perfect, can’t you tell?” His voice is strained, tension showing in the lines around his eyes and in the thin set of his mouth. “Really, Thomas, the fuss is hardly necessary. I—” He cuts off with a slight gasp, eyes squeezing shut, and Thomas feels his heart clench.

“Hm, yeah, no, I think I’ve got the right to fuss a little bit,” he says, hoping his voice stays level. He looks him up and down, searching for the injury, and finds nothing; his shirt appears immaculate, his whole outfit as perfectly assembled as usual, not a rip or tear in sight. If it weren’t for the pain on his face, the tremors wracking his frame, Thomas wouldn’t suspect that he was injured at all, and he frowns. “Can you, uh—” He gestures— “take off your shirt, maybe? So I can see where you’re hurt?”

Janus sighs heavily, as though the request has greatly burdened him. He waves one hand in the air, and his shirt and capelet vanish, revealing his bare torso. Under any other circumstance, Thomas might be fascinated by the scales that trail all along his chest and left arm, but right now, his attention centers on the gash bloodying his side, and the thinner scratches that cover him. They all look bigger than they were before, more serious, and he hopes that he didn’t make the wrong decision in requesting him to shift. If it had been a bad idea, he would have refused, right?

“God, Janus,” he says. “What happened?”

Janus sighs again, rolling his eyes. “A mishap in the Imagination,” he says. “Unfortunately, both Roman and Remus designed the place so that its effects stick around even after leaving.”

… Alright. That’s probably something to talk about later; he doesn’t particularly like the reminder that he has no idea how most of the mindscape works. “But I thought you could heal yourselves?” he can’t help but ask. He vividly remembers the day he met Remus, the way that none of his attacks seemed to affect Logan for more than a few seconds.

“We all can, to some degree,” Janus agrees. “It’s more difficult for some of us than it is for others.” He hesitates, and the next words come out slow and almost defensive. “I am capable of it, if I succeed in persuading myself that the problem doesn’t exist in the first place, but in order to do so, I need to sufficiently distance myself from any negative sensations that accompany the harm. I am… currently finding that difficult.” He glares. “I’ll mange perfectly well, given time. There is no need for any of _this_.” He waves an arm to punctuate the declaration, and it might have been somewhat convincing if it weren’t for the fact that he immediately curls in on himself, face paling, like he’s pulled something the wrong way.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Well, how about you let me help you anyway, just for my peace of mind?”

Janus stares at him for a long moment, face unreadable. Finally, he glances away. “Do what you wish,” he says. “If you want to waste time on this, be my guest.”

He hums noncommittally, already inspecting the wound. “I don’t think that taking care of you is a waste of time,” he says, fishing through the first aid kit. He comes up with a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol, looking up just in time to see what can only be an expression of shock fade from Janus’ face, and god, what must he be doing wrong if _that_ is Janus’ reaction to being told that he cares about him? He can’t unpack that right now, or else he might cry, so he holds out the Tylenol instead. “Painkillers?”

Janus nods slightly, and takes two dry. From there, Thomas works in silence, cleaning the wounds as best he can and bandaging them. It takes longer than he expects, and he debates whether or not the long gash will need stitches. He decides not to make the attempt, trusting that what Janus says is true and that he will be able to heal before too long. So he wraps bandages around his torso, and Janus, for his part, remains perfectly still, staring straight ahead, an occasional soft hiss the only thing that betrays his discomfort.

“Okay,” he says quietly, inspecting his handiwork. “I think that’s the best I can do.”

Janus shoots him an unreadable look. “In that case,” he says, “I believe I’ll be going now.”

He hops down from the counter before Thomas can stop him, and his face crumples like a wet sheet of paper. Thomas catches him as his knees give out, hooking his hands under his arms. He is surprisingly light, his skin cool to the touch.

“How about we don’t do that, actually,” he says. “I’ll tell you what, let’s go to my room, and I can work and you can get some rest?”

Janus hisses, trying to jerk away. It’s not difficult to prevent him from doing so; he has all the strength of a floppy pool noodle. “Oh yes, because I’m in dire need of a _babysitter_ ,” he spits out, and perhaps Thomas should feel intimidated, but looking at him, at the way all the color has drained from his face, at the way his eyes have glazed over even as they dart around the bathroom, all Thomas can muster up is a deep worry.

“I’m not trying to babysit you,” he says. “Believe me, I know that you of all people don’t need babysitting. But if you try to sink out now, I’m just gonna be stressed out, so if you’d stick around for a little bit, I would really appreciate it.”

Janus stills. The silence stretches on.

“Fine,” Janus says. “Sure. Whatever.”

Thomas restrains himself from letting out a sigh of relief, instead adjusting his grip on Janus until he is only supporting part of his weight. From the look on his face, Janus wants very much to grumble about the indignity of the situation, but miraculously, he remains quiet all the way to Thomas’ room, though he begins to drag his feet when he sees what Thomas intends.

“If you want me to rest,” he says, “I am perfectly capable of doing so in my own room. There’s hardly a need for me to take up space in your bed.”

“Okay,” Thomas says, lowering him to sit on the bedsheets and doing his level best to ignore his glare, “but then I won’t know that you’re alright. Also, I don’t see what the big deal is? It’s not like we haven’t done this before. You were just, uh, snakier.”

He knows immediately that it is the wrong thing to say. Janus’ face sets into an impassive wall, and he looks away, refusing to make eye contact. Thomas can’t tell what he’s feeling, whether it’s anger or embarrassment or frustration or some stubborn combination of the three. But he settles himself against the headboard without further argument, seemingly determined not to carry on any further conversation, so Thomas resigns himself to the silent treatment and sets up with his laptop on the other side of the bed, several inches placed between them.

The atmosphere is awkward, heavy. They both know that Thomas wants to talk, and they both know that Janus will not reply, or if he does, it will be with sharp sarcasm or otherwise cutting words, an answer that will not answer anything at all. So Thomas doesn’t say anything, merely glances over every now and again to be sure that Janus is still there, is still fine, is still breathing. Every time, he is greeted with the same sight: Janus staring off into the empty space in front of him, face blank, a faint tightness around his eyes the only indication that he is still in pain. There is a wall between them, invisible yet insurmountable, and Thomas has no idea how to breach it.

Why does their relationship feel so off-kilter now? Why are things so natural between them when Janus is a snake, small and speechless and cuddly, and not when he is a human?

“I don’t mean to force you to stay,” he murmurs. “If you’re really that uncomfortable, it’s alright if you leave.”

He’s watching him out of the corner of his eye, and as such, he sees the wince, slight though it may be.

“It’s… not that,” Janus admits. “I am grateful for your concern, truly. I just… _so_ love being in unfamiliar territory.” His voice is a quiet drawl, but laced with exhaustion, his words just shy of slurred together.

He takes a second to parse through the words, and then smiles. “Well, that makes two of us,” he says. “I’d be alright with muddling through together. And look, I know that most of the time, when we hang out, you’re a snake. And that’s fine! One hundred percent fine, if that’s what you’re most comfortable with! But uh, I really wouldn’t mind spending more time with you as, like, a person, too, if that makes sense. Not that you’re not a person when you’re a snake! Wait—” He furrows his brow, trying to untangle his words, and looks over, certain that Janus will at least be amused by his rambling.

He’s not. Because Janus is asleep, his chin resting against his chest and his hat about to fall into his lap. Thomas feels an inexorable sense of fondness sweep over him, and with a gentle movement, he reaches over to pluck the hat from Janus’ head, revealing brown hair that falls in springy waves. He places the hat on the nightstand, casting one last look at Janus before returning his attention to his laptop.

There is plenty of work to do, and he is content to do it here, sitting in bed with Janus napping by his side. So he does, his fingers clacking against the keys long into the night, and Janus sleeps on.

* * *

He doesn’t remember falling asleep. But he must, because he wakes, and slowly processes the fact that all is not as he left it. For one, the light is off, the room dark, and his laptop is resting on the nightstand, next to the shadow of Janus’ hat. For another, there is a heavy weight on top of his chest, pinning one of his arms against his side, and in the seconds before his eyes adjust sufficiently to the darkness, he fears the worst, fears that someone has broken into his apartment and… crawled into bed with him, and the irrationality of that idea is enough to dampen his panic. He squints, trying to will his vision into focus, and begins to make out what features he can see of the face pressed against his chest, features that very closely resemble his own, and that is when he remembers: Janus on his arm, Janus injured and bleeding, Janus on his bed, Janus asleep. Janus… still here.

Janus, snuggled up against him, his head resting on his chest, his body curled into his side, latched onto him with both… no, there’s more than two arms. At least four, maybe more; it’s difficult to determine without the light on, because all that Thomas can tell is that he is being very thoroughly hugged, and that it feels very nice.

This fact is distracting enough that it’s a full three minutes or so before he realizes that there is another figure perched on the edge of his bed. Panic roars up in him once again, his heart pounding and the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end, but then he notices the details, notices the poof of the figure’s sleeves, the wildness of their hair silhouetted against the light that creeps around the edges of the doorframe, the unholy red gleam of their eyes. And he… well, he doesn’t relax, not exactly. But most of his fear sidesteps directly into annoyance.

“Remus,” he hisses, as quietly as he can manage. “What are you doing?”

Remus cocks his head, his eyes shining brighter. He’s crouched almost like a grotesque parody of a cat, ready to pounce. But the Duke himself is still and silent, and it’s very odd. Almost worrying. And when he finally speaks, it’s not at all what Thomas was expecting.

“DeeDee got hurt,” he says, voice a subdued whisper, and Thomas is taken aback, both by the seriousness of his tone and the evident consideration toward not waking Janus up.

“I— yeah,” Thomas replies, uncertain as to where this is going. “I, uh, patched him up as best I could. He said he’d heal soon.” A thought occurs to him, and if Janus weren’t keeping him flat on his back, he’d be sitting bolt upright, finger pointed in accusation. “Wait, he said he was hurt in the Imagination. Did you have something to do with that?”

“I can’t keep an eye on every part of La La Land at once, Thomas.” He shrugs. “It’s not my fault if Snake from Snake Farm wandered into something he shouldn’t have.” He giggles, high-pitched and a little manic, but Thomas wonders at his tone of voice. It’s as irreverent as always, but underneath that— can it be concern? He really didn’t think Remus _did_ concern. “Snakes should know better than to let their guard down. Your mind is dark and full of terrors.” He smiles, several rows of pointed teeth gleaming an unnatural white in the shadows.

“I don’t even watch—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head, and then freezes as Janus makes a small sound. Seconds pass, and he waits with bated breath, but Janus doesn’t seem to wake. “Okay, then,” he continues, more quietly. “Is there a reason why you’re here?”

Remus blinks, and once again, Thomas is reminded of a cat. A terrible, eldritch horror of a cat, but a cat nonetheless. “DeeDee doesn’t like to be around people when he’s hurt,” he says, rocking back and forth in place. “He doesn’t like people knowing when he’s _weak_.” He sighs through his nose, his breath whistling more than is natural. “He holes up in his room and doesn’t come out for anything, usually. Not even when I bang on the door and put rats in his air vents.”

Thomas stares, trying to process that. “But he’s here with me,” he says dumbly. “He decided to stay here. He’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t need to describe what Janus is doing; surely, Remus can see it for himself, can see them engaging in what can only be labeled as cuddling. And it’s not as if this is the first time; it’s just the first time Janus has been human-shaped.

“Yes, he is,” Remus agrees, voice sharp, and he is definitely trying to convey something here, something that Thomas is missing. “Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, Tommy-boy, you’re just not getting it, are you? Well, that’s fine. Just remember that the snakes on the plane die too, if the plane crashes.”

“Is the plane crashing?” Thomas asks, voice hoarse, hesitant, and once again, Remus smiles, wide and dangerous.

“Not now, maybe,” he says. “But it still could. It always can. That’s the fun thing about airplanes. I could help with that, if you wanted.”

“No thanks,” Thomas is quick to reply.

Remus shrugs. “Suit yourself,” he says, and then pauses. “Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close, you know. So don’t fuck it up.”

It’s such an uncharacteristic statement that by the time Thomas has recovered enough to reply, Remus is gone, melting into the bedsheets in a grotesque puddle of goo, and then, even that disappears. Thomas is left in a dark, quiet room, and he has never felt more awake.

But Janus is still here, still asleep, is holding onto him for dear life and hiding his face against his chest. And it’s something precious, something intimate, something that Thomas feels privileged to see at all, and Remus’ voice rings loud in his head: _Janus doesn’t let just anyone this close._ Why, then, has he allowed him this? Why has he let Thomas see him at his most vulnerable, no matter how reluctant he was at the start? Why did he choose to stay, rather than leaving once Thomas nodded off?

Each question only leads to more questions, and it’s clear that he won’t receive any answers tonight. So he settles back in as best he can, though it is a long time before he manages to fall asleep again.

In the morning, Janus is gone. He wishes he could be more surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually managed to get the third chapter finished this weekend? Finally? It's not edited yet, but hopefully I'll be posting it in the relatively near future.
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all the kudos and comments!! They really mean the world to me!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... and here we are.

They still don’t talk about it. Thomas is beginning to suspect that this is causing a lot more problems than it solves. And by now, enough time has passed that it almost feels wrong to address it, any of it, feels like it’s too late, like he’s let the opportunity slip through his fingers.

So, he decides to try a different approach.

“Really?” Logan asks, raising an eyebrow. He appears entirely unimpressed, like a teacher about to explain for the millionth time that he’s not going to give out the answers to the homework.

“Yes, really,” Thomas says. “I just can’t figure him out, and I thought maybe you could help me with that.”

Logan sighs, taking a seat across from him at the dining table. He clasps his hands in front of him, folding his fingers delicately. “Very well,” he says, “if only because the matter will continue to distract you if you don’t resolve it sufficiently. Where would you like to begin?”

He frowns, tilting his chair back until the two front legs lift off the floor. “I don’t really know,” he says. “I guess I just want to know why he acts the way he does. ‘Cause he seems to have no problem approaching me as a snake, but he’s so standoffish as a human, and I can never figure out exactly what he wants from me, like, ever. He’s just… confusing, and I don’t know what to do about it, or how to talk to him.”

Logan inclines his head. “In that case, it may be prudent to reflect on how this conundrum began in the first place,” he prompts, and Thomas thinks on it, casts his mind back to that day, and the snake in the sunshine.

“That’s the first question,” he agrees. “He started coming up here for the sun, right? To be warm?”

“It is rather fascinating that he possesses so many traits of a creature that is truly cold-blooded,” Logan says. He leans forward. “It does seem to me that acquiring warmth was a primary motivation for him, at least at first. However, there is another question to be considered, which is that of why he felt the need to do so here, rather than anywhere in the mindscape. Though it is true that there are some circumstances in which it is difficult to find a simulation of sunlight, such as when the twins insist on rainy weather in the Imagination, it is by no means impossible, and he should have the capability to summon a heat source for himself. A heat lamp, for instance.”

“But instead he came up here,” he says slowly. “So, you’re saying he _wanted_ to be here. That he wanted to be… what, near me?” The idea sounds preposterous, though all the evidence points to it being the correct conclusion. Because if Janus _didn’t_ want to, he wouldn’t. It’s that simple.

Logan nods. “Remember, the first time he was faced with a lack of warmth both inside the mindscape and out, he immediately accepted your offer of sharing body heat. Somehow, I find it difficult to believe that he would have behaved in such a manner if no part of his motivation involved being close to you, in some way.”

“Okay, maybe,” he says. “But I still don’t get why he’s doing it like this. He always seems so embarrassed when I try to bring it up to him, like he doesn’t want to talk about it at all.”

“Oh, come on, Thomas,” Virgil says. “You can’t possibly be that oblivious.”

Thomas starts violently, a yelp escaping his throat. He nearly overbalances, nearly sends himself and the chair crashing to the floor, but he corrects himself in time, clutching at his chest as he wrests his heart rate back down to something approaching normal levels.

“Holy smokes, Virge,” he says. “A little warning, next time?”

From where he is perched on the chair between them, Virgil shrugs, looking vaguely apologetic.

“Ah, Virgil,” Logan says. “I was wondering when you were going to arrive.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Sorry I’m late,” he snipes, not sounding sorry at all. “I was just making sure that, you know, Janus wasn’t listening to you guys talking about him behind his back. You can’t honestly think he’d be happy that you guys are having this conversation, can you?” Thomas blinks, and Virgil must sense his sudden increase in nerves, because he shakes his head. “He’s busy with Remus right now, so you don’t actually have to worry about it yet, but a little bit of caution wouldn’t kill you.”

He sounds annoyed, but not overly angry, so Thomas relaxes a bit. “Right,” he says, “sorry, Virgil. Wasn’t really thinking about that.” He pauses. “I have been wondering where you’ve been, actually. I really thought that you’d, uh, have a little bit more to say about the whole letting-Janus-basically-cuddle-with-me thing. But you’ve been kinda quiet.”

Virgil exchanges a glance with Logan, shifting in place. “Yeah, uh, you’ve got Logan to thank for that,” he says. “Look, I don’t like the guy. I probably never will. But—” He pauses, hunching his shoulders— “even I’ve got to admit that he’s not gonna hurt you, so honestly? I have a lot more problems with the things he says and tries to get you to do than the, uh. Whatever the hell this has been.”

He gestures broadly, leaning back. Despite his typical disaffected tone, there is an odd gravity to his words, and Thomas knows that there’s something he isn’t saying. But he won’t press the issue; not yet anyway. Virgil is entitled to his secrets, and though he has long speculated on what, exactly, his relationship to Janus is and was, he is content to leave it alone for now.

“Fair enough,” he says. “So, what do you mean about me being oblivious?”

Virgil raises an eyebrow. “Really? You can’t figure it out?” he asks. “Janus is the embodiment of lies and deceit, Thomas. He’s the opposite of trustworthiness.” Thomas opens his mouth to interject, since he really doesn’t see how this is relevant, or even remotely helpful, but Virgil holds up a finger, forestalling him. “And I’m not just saying that in the context of him not being trustworthy. Which he’s not, by the way, just to make that clear.”

“Yeah, no, I know exactly where you stand on this,” he mutters, and Virgil glares at him. “Sorry, sorry, please continue.”

“All I’m trying to say is that he’s got some fucking trust issues, alright?” Virgil snaps. “He’s—” He breaks off, looking away and reddening slightly. He seems to struggle with himself briefly, his face twisting into some undefinable expression: a heavy reluctance, mixed with something Thomas can’t put a name to. “He’s kinda like me, in that way. You remember how long it took me to believe you when you started telling me you actually wanted me around?”

Guilt floods him, then, the memories of how he used to treat Virgil rushing back. These past couple of years have been good, so much so that he rarely thinks back on where they started. He knows Virgil so well that it is easy to forget that he feared him, once, pushed him down and tried to ignore him rather than working with him or trying to help him.

“Virgil—”

“No, listen.” His words come insistently, once again verging on frustration, so Thomas shuts up. “I’m not saying that to make you feel guilty, or whatever. We’re past that now. We’re good. And god knows I fucking hate comparing myself to him in literally any way. But what I’m trying to say is that being a, a ‘dark side’ or whatever you want to call them, it’s not exactly conducive to believing that you care, or that you value our opinions. So even though you’ve accepted him, and you’ve started actively listening to his contributions, he probably doesn’t trust you not to, like, reverse positions, or some shit like that.”

“But Thomas hasn’t shown any desire to do so,” Logan interjects, “nor any indication that his stance will change in the future.”

“Maybe,” Virgil returns, “but Janus is self-preservation, not logic. He likes to pretend that he’s all cool and confident and rational, but he’s not. So he’s gonna act out of self-defense, no matter how stupid a move that might be.”

“You’re saying he thinks I might hurt him,” Thomas says. A strange sort of horrified numbness settles into his chest at the very thought, because that is the last thing he wants. It has always been the last thing he wants. And now, so much time has passed, and they haven’t addressed it at all, and maybe it really is too late. Because Virgil is right; it only makes sense that Deceit himself would be hesitant to trust, and he’s not sure there’s anything he can say or do to convince him otherwise. If he doesn’t trust him at this point, who’s to say he’ll ever trust him at all?

Would he be right not to?

“I’m saying he’s _scared_ you might hurt him,” Virgil says bluntly, breaking him from his thoughts, and that’s even worse. He finds it hard to picture Janus being scared, but Janus lies as easily as breathing. What’s one more emotion to mask?

He doesn’t want Janus to be scared of him.

“I’m not sure how much sense that makes,” Logan says. “If Janus truly has the trust issues that you are describing, it wouldn’t be rational for him to seek out Thomas as much as he has. If he fears being hurt, it would be more logical to stay away, rather than actively searching for his company.”

Virgil shrugs. “Exactly.”

There is a beat of silence. Thomas looks at Logan, and has the gratification of seeing that he appears as confused as he feels.

“What?” Logan asks.

“Oh my god,” Virgil says. “Do I have to be the one to spell this out? Janus has trust issues, yeah? He’s afraid of getting close to you, because he thinks you might hurt him. But he’s been spending time with you anyway. What does that tell you?”

He furrows his brow, trying to sort through the words. There is something there, a conclusion that Virgil is attempting to lead him, to, but it’s not quite—

Oh. Wait.

“That doesn’t follow,” Logan says. “You’re saying he doesn’t trust Thomas, but now you’re trying to imply that he does?”

Virgil shrugs again, this time looking remarkably self-satisfied, a smug smile forming on his lips. “I guess,” he says. “I’m not saying it has to make sense. Trust… isn’t always based on logic. Sometimes it’s just emotions, or even just a gut feeling. Intuition. And like I said, Janus pretends not to be emotional, but at heart, he’s just as much of a dramatic theater kid as Roman is, if that tells you anything. He’ll be snarky and prickly and dickish all day long, but just because he pushes you away doesn’t mean that’s actually what he wants.”

His voice lowers at the end, becoming something soft and bitter and laced with experience. Thomas exchanges another glance with Logan, but once again decides not to force the issue. Virgil will come to him when he’s ready and not a moment before.

“So, you think that he does trust me, on some level at least,” he says, working through the information as he goes. “But not enough to approach me openly, or to talk to me about it, so maybe he doesn’t trust me not to take advantage of that trust? Or maybe he doesn’t trust me to trust him, or maybe he doesn’t trust me not to reject his trust.” He pauses, considering. “Hey, do you ever say a word so many times that it starts to lose its meaning? Trust. Trust, trust, trust. Truuuust. See? Gibberish.”

Logan exhales through his nose, sharp and pointed. “Focus, Thomas,” he says wearily, and Thomas forcibly brings his head back down to earth. “Have you come to a conclusion as to what your next step should be?”

Thomas looks at him, and then looks at Virgil. They are both staring at him, twin expressions of expectation on their faces, and his heart warms to see them like this, working together so easily, united in their purposes. Logic and Anxiety, Logan and Virgil. They really do make a good team. He doesn’t know where he would be without them.

He hopes they know that.

“Yeah, I have,” he says, and laughs. “I guess I should’ve been doing it all along. I need to talk to him.”

Logan’s face relaxes, and he nods. “There you have it,” he says. “Working through this with us is fine and good, but you’ll never be satisfied until you can figuratively ‘clear the air’ with him.” He unfolds his hands, bracing them against the table as he stands, his chair scraping against the floor as he pushes it back. “If that is all you need from me, I believe I will be on my way.”

Thomas smiles at him, helpless to do anything but. He really does love his sides. “Sure thing,” he says. “Thanks a lot, Logan.”

Logan sinks out, but Thomas is sure that a matching smile plays about his lips.

And then, he looks to Virgil, still crouched in the other chair, shoulders hunched and fingers fiddling with the sleeves of his hoodie. His brow is creased, his eyes narrow, and it is a far cry from the open posture of moments before.

“You good?” he asks, and then stops to reconsider. Virgil is rarely completely _good_ , so to speak, and clearly, there is something else on his mind now. “With all of this, I mean,” he clarifies. “I know you said that you were okay with me and Janus hanging out, but I know that there’s some kind of past between the two of you, and I. Uh. I mean, I want all of you to be happy, and that includes Janus, but that includes you, too. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable if there’s anything I can do to help with that.”

Virgil sighs, gaze shifting to meet his eyes. He looks tired all of a sudden, drained.

“I’ve been thinking about this a lot, lately,” he admits. “And yeah, when he first showed up and started doing this? I was freaked. I’m sure you felt that. Logan’s had to talk me down a lot. But I—” He hesitates, sucking in a deep breath. “I’ve realized something recently, and that’s the fact that a lot of my problems with Janus are pretty personal. Not all of them, but more than I really thought. And I don’t think it’s fair to you to push my view of him onto you when really, I’ve just been projecting my own feelings.” He shakes his head ruefully. “My private issues with him don’t necessarily mean that he never makes any good points. Maybe if I hadn’t been so against hearing him out in the first place, we could’ve avoided a lot of bullshit. So, I’m sorry. From here on out, I’m gonna try to be better about that.”

Thomas blinks. And then blinks again. He feels as though a weight has been lifted from his chest, a weight that he didn’t know was there at all. It’s only now that it’s gone that he realizes how worried he has been about this, about Virgil and Janus and the relationship between them and how he is supposed to keep them both close when their enmity is so strong.

“Oh,” he says. “Oh, wow, uh. That’s really good to hear.” His words stumble over each other, but the smile that softens his tone is completely genuine, and he hopes that Virgil picks up on that. “I’m proud of you.”

Virgil jerks, his eyes widening. Under his foundation, his cheeks flush red.

“Cool,” he says. “Um, thanks. Whatever.” He salutes, his typical two-fingered motion landing just shy of casual, and he sinks out from the chair, leaving Thomas alone at the table.

Well. Not truly alone. When is he ever? Just because he can’t see them doesn’t mean they aren’t present, doesn’t make them any less a part of him.

He breathes deeply, in and out, and feels more balanced than he has for a long time.

* * *

He gives it a day. A day to rest, a day to formulate a vague plan of how to go about this, of what to say. Though he now feels secure in this course of action, knows that this conversation needs to happen, he is still nervous about stepping wrongly. Janus has a temper, and more defenses than a temple from _Indiana Jones_ , and if this meeting goes off the rails, he isn’t sure how to salvage it. Better to try to keep it running smoothly from the very beginning.

He wishes he were more confident in his ability to do that.

He sits on the couch, tries to get comfortable. His heart is beating quickly, though just as much from anticipation as from nervousness. He inhales deeply, and then stretches out his arm, motioning like he’s trying to raise someone from the floor.

“Janus?” he calls out, and stops to wait.

And then, he is there, stepping smoothly from the shadows. It’s totally unlike the way the others rise up, but it’s not like how Virgil does it, either. Virgil appears suddenly, like every jump scare in every horror movie, quick and forceful and undeniable. But Janus strides forward as if he was there all along, and something in Thomas’ mind insists that he _was_ , that he has been there this whole time, even though he knows very well that he only just arrived.

“Thomas,” he says, voice level and collected. Looking at him now, it is difficult to believe that he was ever injured, that Thomas has seen him bleeding and shaking, that Thomas has felt him cling to him in his sleep. He appears nothing less than completely put together, gloves immaculate and hat perfectly balanced, and just for a moment, Thomas loses his nerve.

But just for a moment, and that is all.

“Hey, Janus,” he says, projecting as much confidence as he can muster. “Do you have a minute?”

Janus lifts an eyebrow, and the set of his eyes shifts, just slightly. He wouldn’t have noticed if he weren’t watching, but there is a flash of— something. Dread, perhaps, though he can’t be sure, and whatever it is, it doesn’t show in his voice.

“I suppose,” he says, somehow managing to sound both agreeable and incredibly put upon, “though I am terribly busy, you know. I can’t imagine why you would assume I’d make time for you.”

As always, it takes mental gymnastics to figure out which parts he means and which parts are sarcasm, but Thomas tries not to dwell too much. He pats the couch next to him, gesturing for him to sit, and after a second of hesitation, Janus does, sinking into the cushion with a fluid, graceful motion, crossing one leg over the other. For all the world, he appears completely at ease, but Thomas isn’t convinced that’s the case. There is something in the tilt of his head, the tension in his hands, that suggests discomfort.

He hopes it’s just discomfort, and not anything stronger than that.

“Okay, well,” he says. “I’m glad you could.” He pauses, trying to figure out if there’s a delicate way to start this, but he thinks that Janus would see right through any attempt at prevarication on his part. So he soldiers ahead, bracing for the fallout, whatever that may be. “I’d like to talk to you about the snake thing that you do.”

Janus blinks, lifting his chin slightly, and Thomas can’t help but wonder if it’s a conscious decision for him. Blinking, that is. Snakes don’t blink, after all, so does that translate to his human form? Does he choose to blink? Does he have to think about it?

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be a bit more specific than that,” Janus says coolly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m at least partially a snake at all times, so you’ll have to tell me which ‘snake thing,’ exactly, you’re referring to.”

He sighs. “I think you know,” he says.

Janus’ shoulders stiffen minutely.

“And what about it?” he asks. “I don’t see what there is to discuss. Unless this is you asking me to stop.”

He sounds defensive, far more so than Thomas would like him to be so early in the conversation, and he struggles to quash his alarm.

“No, I’m not asking you to stop. Definitely not,” he says, meeting Janus’ eyes squarely. “I’m happy to spend time with you, Janus. And if you’re a snake during that time, then that’s completely fine. But I wanted to ask you why, I guess.” He hesitates, but Janus doesn’t interrupt, just continues to study him with wary eyes. “I mean, at first I just thought you wanted to get warm. And that’s cool! I’m one hundred percent cool with that! But the thing is, I’m pretty sure that there are other ways you could do that, if you wanted. So, I wanted to see if maybe there was another reason.”

Janus looks away at that, a scowl twisting his lips.

“Snakes are cold-blooded,” he says, his words short and clipped. “You’re a convenient source of heat, that’s all.”

Thomas has never been so sure that Janus is lying in all his life.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m not gonna push you to tell me. Not if you don’t want to. But if you _do_ want to, you can. I really would like to know.”

And because the moment seems to call for it, he gently reaches out and places a hand on Janus’ arm. Janus’ eyes widen, and he tenses, but makes no move to pull away, so after a moment of indecision, wondering whether this touch is welcome or not, Thomas maintains the contact. After a second or two, Janus turns his head toward him again, eyes flitting back and forth between his hand and his face, and his expression is unreadable, but Thomas is fairly sure that some kind of emotion is trying to make itself known, though he can’t be sure exactly what it is. Shock, perhaps, but he doesn’t think he’s said anything too shocking, unless—

He remembers that day, Janus bleeding all over his bathroom sink, and the fading look of surprise on his face when Thomas told him that he wanted to take care of him.

And he wonders: does Janus know he can have this?

He tries to recall whether he’s ever touched Janus as a human. Besides that one incident, he doesn’t think he has. Even when he placed Janus in his own bed and sat next to him, he put distance between them, a gap that was only closed after they both fell asleep. And in the morning, Janus was gone, almost as if he was fleeing the scene, and Thomas thought it was because he was embarrassed, but what if that’s not all of it?

What if he was worried about how Thomas would react?

“Janus,” he says slowly, “you do know that I enjoy your company, right? And not just when you’re a snake. When you’re human-shaped, too.”

“Of course,” Janus says, but it’s too quick, too shaky for Thomas to even begin to believe him.

“I’m serious,” he presses. “Is that… is that why you only hang out with me when you’re a snake? Did you think I wouldn’t want to otherwise?”

Janus glances away again. “Right, because you’d definitely understand,” he mutters, and Thomas makes a negating gesture with his free hand.

“Then why don’t you _help_ me understand?” he asks, somewhat desperately.

Janus stays quiet for a long minute, and as the silence stretches on, he fears that he’s messed it all up, somehow, that he had this one chance to connect and he blew it, made a mistake somewhere without realizing, and Janus is about to reject him and sink out and he will never have this opportunity again—

“You do realize what you’re asking of me?” Janus says softly. He still doesn’t look at Thomas. Thomas wishes he would. “An honest conversation isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

“That’s okay,” Thomas says, and Janus closes his eyes and nods. Once, sharply, almost as if to himself.

“It is about warmth,” he says. “At least partially. I’m not sure why your mind decided to assign me scientifically accurate snake traits, but—” He shrugs— “I’m more than used to it by now. I… never really needed to come up here, though. I have heating lamps of my own, and if that doesn’t suit, I can usually find a warm spot in the Imagination. But, that first day, the mindscape seemed so crowded, like I couldn’t find a moment’s peace. So I decided to try up here instead. I told myself that if you spotted me, I would leave.”

“But I did,” Thomas says. “And you didn’t.”

“I was dozing. You caught me off guard, and then… to be frank, I didn’t expect you to let me stay,” Janus admits, and Thomas feels a pang at the confirmation. “But then you did, so I kept doing it, and it became a routine.”

He nods. So far, there have been no surprises. He remembers all of this very well.

“And then there was that rainy day,” he prompts, and Janus winces slightly, his eyes sliding back open, staring out into the living room, unfocused.

“Yes,” he agrees, whisper-soft, and Thomas leans forward to hear him better. “I knew it was foolish of me to stay here when I could have just as easily gone to my room and been warm there. But I didn’t want to.”

The last sentence carries the weight of a confession.

“Why is that?” Thomas asks. He barely dares to let the words pass his lips. Even now, when Janus is clearly trying to open up to him, he is still scared of saying the wrong thing, of making him clam up again, pull away.

Slowly, Janus uncrosses his legs, letting his hands splay out on his knees. For a moment, Thomas’ eyes are drawn to the contrast, yellow on black.

“I—” Janus pauses, his expression pinched. He shakes his head. “In the mindscape, it’s somewhat difficult to ensure a moment of solitude. It’s quieter up here, and even besides, that, I—” He cuts off suddenly, a violent shiver running through him, so intense that it almost seems like a convulsion.

“You?” Thomas prompts, trying not to show his worry. But Janus refuses to reply, and as Thomas watches, he slowly brings a hand up to cover his own mouth, an unsettling parody of when he silenced the others. And something in Thomas’ heart breaks to see it, to see this, to see the way Janus retreats into himself, the way he presses his hand against his face as if trying to hold back a flood.

The posture reminds him of something. The posture reminds him of _Virgil_. Of Virgil, anxious and afraid of judgment, and Thomas never really expected that from Janus, but he remembers thinking, way back when this first started, about how Janus and Virgil are alike. And that thought gives him the courage to continue, because he knows how to get through to Virgil when he gets lost in his head, so maybe he can get through to Janus, too.

So, he reaches out. One hand still rests on Janus’ arm, but he gently curls the other around Janus’ wrist, though he doesn’t try to pull his hand from his face, not yet.

“You don’t need to do that,” he says. “You can tell me. I swear, I won’t betray your trust.”

Janus’ face spasms, and gently, Thomas guides the hand down from his jaw. The skin around his mouth is red from the force of his grip, except for where the scales glitter, and his lips are drawn into a thin line, pressed together tightly. But there is something shining in his eyes, something that Thomas can’t interpret.

“Won’t you?” Janus asks. It should be a challenge, but it isn’t, not quite, because it’s not nearly aggressive enough for that, not nearly as aggressive as it was probably intended to be. There is a quietness in the words, a sort of defeat, and all of that is mixed with an odd desperation, like Janus thinks he knows the answer but wants to hear it anyway. “You hardly have a reason not to.”

Thomas is beginning to wonder if they’re having the same conversation here.

“No,” he says. “I know this isn’t easy for you. But I do have a reason not to, and that reason is that I care about you.” He wants to scrub a hand down his face, to let a bit of his frustration show, but doing so would mean letting go of Janus, either his arm or his hand, and he doesn’t want to do that yet. “Look, I get that trust is hard. And I’m not asking for anything that I haven’t earned. But what I do earn, I’m not going to abuse. I promise you, Janus.”

Janus shudders at the sound of his name.

“ _Can_ you promise that?” he asks.

And Thomas does the only thing he can think to do and draws him in for a hug.

“Yes,” he says, resting his chin on Janus’ shoulder. “ _Yes_ , I can promise that.”

Janus freezes up, and for a moment, it’s like hugging a stone statue. But Thomas holds him close, so close that he can feel his heartbeat beneath all his layers, beating rabbit-quick and scared, and he doesn’t let him go, and incrementally slowly, Janus melts into his embrace, inch by inch, as if he’s fighting it, fighting himself.

“It’s about safety,” he murmurs, and Thomas has to strain to hear him. “I feel safe, with you.”

“I’m glad,” he replies, and hopes that Janus can hear just how much he means it. “I’m really glad. But why do you feel like you have to hide that?”

Janus doesn’t answer, but Thomas thinks he can guess. Virgil’s voice still rings in his ears, reminding him of how long he’s pushed the dark sides away, how long it has taken for him to acknowledge them as parts of him at all, much less important parts, parts deserving of respect in their own right. Really, what reason does Janus have to assume that Thomas won’t hurt him, won’t shove him to the side, back down into the dark? Why would Janus discard his caution in favor of trust when it has taken so very long for Thomas to be receptive to him at all?

Janus conceals so much, all the time. It’s a part of his function. So how can Thomas possibly expect him to admit what he truly wants?

“It frightens me,” Janus whispers suddenly, and Thomas pulls his attention back to the present, startled. “I never allow myself to trust anyone, and yet… I want to be close to you. I always have, I suppose, but I never really expected it to be possible. I never expected it to be a problem—”

“Whoa, hey, no,” Thomas says, because he definitely needs to cut off that line of thinking right away. He pulls away from Janus, gripping him by both shoulders and holding him in front of him so he can make eye contact. “Your feelings aren’t a problem. You feeling safe isn’t a _problem_ , and it never will be, you hear? The only thing that’s a problem is that I refused to accept you for so long, and I’m trying to fix that now. But that’s not your fault.”

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. When he speaks again, he keeps his voice low and measured and as sincere as possible, and he doesn’t take his eyes off of Janus’ face.

“I know we don’t know each other that well,” he says. “I know there’s a lot about you that I don’t understand. But I’ve really liked spending time with you these past couple months, and not because you’re a snake. You don’t need to be a snake to spend time with me. You’re not intruding, or, or bothering me, or whatever. I want to hang out with _you_ , no matter what shape you’re in.” He smiles wryly. “Really, the only reason I didn’t say so sooner was because I wasn’t sure what was going on, or if maybe you actually didn’t want to be around when you’re, uh, human-shaped. But, Janus, I really mean it. I want to get to know you better. I want to be friends. There’s no conditions attached to that.”

He pauses.

“You’re always welcome to be close to me,” he says. “Always.”

They stay like that for a moment, like time has frozen around them, frozen this moment, and Thomas scarcely dares to breathe. Either this was the right thing to say, or it wasn’t, and he can only hope for the former and not the latter, because there is no taking it back. He’s spoken his mind and his heart with nothing less than complete sincerity, and he couldn’t renege on that even if he wanted to.

Janus makes a choked noise, and then, with one gloved hand, reaches out and snags Thomas’ shirt. And he pulls himself close, tucking himself against Thomas’ chest, burying his face into his shirt. His hat slides off his head and to the ground, but he doesn’t seem to notice, or care if he does. His shoulders are shaking, and Thomas can feel the growing dampness of the fabric against his skin, but he doesn’t say anything, because he’s said all that needs to be said. He knows it, and he thinks that Janus knows it, and he hopes that now, Janus will finally, finally be able to believe him.

So Thomas just wraps his arms around him, and holds him steady.

* * *

It’s movie night. It’s movie night, and Thomas is feeling good, great, even, because there are no pressing deadlines or moral crises, and he’s making popcorn in the kitchen, a soft blanket draped over his shoulders while he listens to everyone affably bicker in the living room. And that’s what it is: bickering, not arguing, not fighting. Roman is advocating for Disney, surprise surprise, while Virgil is groaning about how “that’s literally all you ever want to watch,” and Patton is chiming in with a desire to watch something with animals, anything really, he’s not all that picky, and Thomas can’t help but smile as he walks in to join them.

Logan is the only one not particularly invested in the conversation, and he greets him with a nod. Thomas hands him the popcorn bowl, trusting him not to make a mess of it, and settles against his side. The others pile in in short order, Patton on the floor and leaning against his legs, Virgil tucked into his other side, and Roman dramatically splaying himself out along the rest of the couch and putting his head in Virgil’s lap.

Remus is here too, behind the couch. Thomas has told him that he’s free to join in if he puts some clothes on, and though Remus swiftly turned him down, there was an odd gleam in his eye that told Thomas to expect a change in the future.

“Was Janus going to join us?” Logan asks, voice barely audible over the sound of the others’ discussion, which has continued uninterrupted, entirely too intense for something as simple as picking a movie to watch.

Thomas grins at him, and lifts the blanket so he can see Janus, draped across his shoulders. Janus lifts his head and flickers his tongue out at Logan, but makes no move to leave or hide. Virgil glances over briefly and frowns, but doesn’t comment, giving Thomas a short nod.

“The Lion King it is!” Roman bursts out, and Thomas settles in.

They watch _The Lion King_ , and when that’s done, Virgil insists on _Hocus Pocus_ , and it’s getting late after that, but Patton quietly asks for _Princess and the Frog_ , and even though Thomas can tell that everyone is close to nodding off, he puts the disk in and lets it play. His own eyelids are drooping before Tiana even meets Naveen, and he is close to falling asleep before Janus begins to shift in place, rousing him a bit.

And suddenly, Janus is in his lap, human-shaped, snuggling up against his chest with a sigh of contentment. Thomas adjusts automatically, shuffling so that everyone can stay comfortable. Virgil mutters something along the lines of, “Get your damn snaky elbow out of my face,” but his sleepiness undercuts any venom the words might have.

“You good, buddy?” Thomas murmurs, too tired to say much of anything else.

Janus hums, taking off his hat and casting it to the ground before tucking his head under Thomas’ chin.

“Shhhhut up and go to ssssleep,” he slurs, and Thomas smiles.

Besides the movie still playing on-screen, the living room is dark. But before Thomas closes his eyes, he thinks he sees Remus staring at him, thinks he inclines his head in… what, approval? And then he is gone, and Thomas doesn’t think too much more about it.

Because he has Janus, and he has all the rest of his sides here, gathered around him, at peace, and all is well with the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and there we go. That's a wrap folks!
> 
> Thank you all so so much for the response that this story has gotten! I'm glad I'm not the only one who like to see some good Thomas and Janus bonding. Parts of this were pretty hard to write, and tbh there was a good while where I thought that this fic might never get posted, just because the last 3k words didn't want to get written. But it did! And I'm glad! And I hope y'all enjoyed!!


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